


Debris

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-09
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Ziva deal with what happened in "Obsession". Please be aware though that this is not a nice story at all. Angry!sex, bordering on non-con. Mature for the theme and head trip. Updated with a second chapter that is an attempt at resolving this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a nice story at all. It is one that hurts. REALLY. This is the way my muses chose to deal with what happened in this episode, and no, I am not happy about it, but it still needed to get out. So, y'know, you have been warned.

He hasn't spoken to her - or any of them, really - all morning. He just sits at his desk and keeps doing his job quietly, lost in unfamiliar concentration, until even Gibbs looks at him strangely.

She tries to talk to him at one time, but he just stares at her until her jumble of words has run its course and she falls quiet again. Then he nods at her, gets up without a word and vacates his desk.

After he has been gone for thirty minutes, Ziva exchanges a look with McGee and then excuses herself.

A few minutes later she locks the door of the men's room behind herself, and Tony's jaw tightens visibly.

"I don't want to talk," he presses out. He's leaning against the sink with his palms pressed against the top of it, not meeting her eyes, and it looks like he's been standing like that for a while now.

She moves closer slowly, carefully, like one would approach a wounded animal. Eventually, she is near enough that she could have touched his arm, and her hand even rises involuntarily. She stops herself just in time. He still notices, though, and it makes a muscle jump in his cheek.

"What do you want?" he asks bluntly, and she blinks, lost for a moment. She hasn't even thought that far.

"I am... concerned about you," she replies after a while, and he rolls his eyes at that. Which makes her frown in turn. "You haven't exactly been yourself lately."

"And why exactly is that, Probie?" he snarls at her in an almost violent outburst, turning around to finally face her, and she jumps at the look on his face and the tone of his voice. "Because I started to look at other women again, after God knows how many years?"

The aggressive tension radiating from him makes her uneasy, and she starts to say something, but then his words really sink in and no sound comes out of her mouth. Because, good agent that he is after all, he has twisted the knife in the wound with eerie precision.

He watches her face, and his eyes narrow at what he sees and what she can't hide - not from him, anyway.

"You know, some people think it's a good idea for me to get back on the horse."

"I don't," she hears herself say, and the words are a shock to both of them, as it turns out.

He tenses up even more after that, and she can see that there is the kind of anger brewing inside him now that's turning him into the Tony she has only seen a few times, the one that has always scared her badly because he is capable of so much darkness.

His hands clench and unclench a few times, and it almost looks as if he has to fight some violent urges. " _You_ were the one who told me that it would be good for us to move on, remember?"

"Not that way," she hears herself reply, and she wonders why she can no longer form complete sentences, and why she can't bring herself to meet his eyes, and why her voice sounds so disgustingly small and unsure.

His eyes narrow even further. "The other way was never _my_ call, Ziva. Not for a really long time."

She stares at him, heart pounding and eyes wide all of a sudden, and she has no idea what to say to that because all the thoughts that spring to mind would be... inappropriate. And she can't help thinking that this isn't right, that they shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't even be thinking about this. Which is the sensible thing to say, but not what she wants to say.

What she _wants_ to say instead is that yes, there is hardly a day when she doesn't think about him in one way or the other, even the days when she doesn't see him at work. That her apartment sometimes feels empty when she least expects it, and that she wants to call him on those nights and never does because neither of them has spent more than a few minutes at the other's place since Michael. That she keeps seeing his face in her dreams, and that sometimes it feels like the only thing that keeps her sane. That, yes, she wants him. So much. Too much.

And yet again, she's trapped in her own vicious cycle of failure, and she finds that she can't tell him any of that, of course. Because she never could before, and she can't just start now. Because the things that are as important to her as this, whatever this is, the things that really matter, these are also the things she cannot want, cannot talk about, because she was never meant to have them in the first place. She just wasn't raised for her own needs.

Her mask slips for a heartbeat, and he notices and sees what's going on.

"Don't you dare now," he hisses, and she jumps at the harsh tone, looking up at him and meeting his angry eyes.

And again, he makes her control slip, just like that, and she certainly doesn't want that, but she can't help it either. Her face is wide open now, and without wanting to, without planning it, she lets him see what is inside her for the first time.

Something happens then, flips the emotions between them upside down while he stares at her, and suddenly he comes for her with a weird expression on his face, slowly, his body tight with tension. Caged tiger, close to attacking his trainer. His mouth is pressed shut in such an angry way when he reaches for her and goes for the buttons of her pants that she gasps and grabs his wrist.

"Don't-" she starts, but she already knows that she won't be able to stop him if he keeps going.

And of course he knows that, too, and so he interrupts her.

"Shut up now or get out of here."

She stares at him, eyes wide and panicked, her fingers still clutching his wrist, and she already feels the pain that he will bring upon her.

And then the moment to run from this is truly gone, and he drags her closer roughly, rips her pants open and just pushes his hand between her legs and inside her rudely. Watches her face closely while he does that.

She shudders, and her cheeks turn hot with shame because even though he violates her, she feels her body react willingly to what he does. And he feels it, too, and his jaw clenches again. That is when she closes her eyes and turns her head away.

She feels him push her pants down to her knees, and then she is roughly turned around and shoved against the sink, its edge cold against her naked thighs. She hears him unbuckle his own pants, and her eyes flow open just in time to see his heated expression in the mirror while he kicks her legs apart and leans into her from behind. He is big, and it hurts when he shoves himself into her, just like that, because he isn't gentle, and he doesn't give her body any time to adjust to the intrusion.

"Please," she says, just that, very quietly, and a few times she adds "don't", but he doesn't stop, and eventually, the pain retreats and changes into something else, something that shouldn't even be there underneath the violence of the act.

And even though her body no longer hurts now, she does, even more.

He works her in a hard, precise way that makes her skin crawl and her insides ache, and his fingers dig into her hips the whole time, his hands clenched so tightly around her flesh that she knows she'll come out of this bruised badly.

Her own nails dig into the back of his hand, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are strangely unemotional, and yet, she sees something flicker in his gaze a few times, something that hasn't been there for a long time.

That is when her body betrays her once more.

She bites her lip hard to keep the moan from spilling out, but she knows that he can still feel her come, and it disrupts the unnerving control he has over his own harsh rhythm. And then he shudders, too, following her release just as quickly, just as quietly. Only his breathing changes to something no longer controlled.

His gaze is filled with angry heat again when she meets his eyes in the mirror, and even though there is definitely something else going on now, something she can't place, all she can feel herself is a slowly spreading numbness.

Her face burns, and she looks down at the sink, blinking. Water, dripping slowly from the faucet because someone hasn't turned it off correctly. Out of the corner of her eye she sees his hands, still clenched hard around her hips. She wants to relax her own fingers and let go of him now, really, but she can't, and so she keeps digging her nails into his hand sharply, leaving her own marks on him.

And then she feels another shudder run through him, and he steps back as if her touch has burned him and he has only noticed it now. He zips up again without a word, his movements terse, and when she just stands there, frozen stiff, he pulls her own pants back up, too. His hands are rough while he does that, and his lips, brushing her cheek as he leans over her shoulder, make her flinch. And she shies away from the touch even though she doesn't want to.

"Now what could she possibly see in me?" he asks. His voice is harsh, lashing painfully across her cheek. And she hears the lock click, and instead of his big, unrelenting body there is just cold emptiness behind her all of a sudden.

"Too much," she whispers while she raises a hand and wipes moisture from her cheek. But the door already swings shut behind him, and she is almost certain that he hasn't even heard her reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me add that this is definitely not how I want to see them, and no, I am not happy with the tendency of this, either. Yes, the next ones will be quite different again.
> 
> That said, I can actually see Tony getting so angry about chances lost. No, I don't like that thought. Yes, I think even though Ziva can kick his ass physically at least fifty different ways, she is still an incredibly conflicted person. And I know from experience how having feelings for someone, but not being able to do anything about it, can affect you.


	2. Collateral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is dealing with it. It is still not a nice story, and it still hurts, but I think it's at least getting them back on the right track.

He barely makes it around the corner and to the nearest waste bin before he throws up. His stomach clenches, and his throat hurts, but he isn't sure if that is really just a physical reaction.  
  
Eventually, he gets up and wipes his mouth, and he blinks away the involuntary tears before he takes the elevator down to the parking deck. He feels like he has to run a marathon to get out of here, out of his head, but in the end, he winds up just sitting in his car, feeling numb. Replaying what just happened over and over and over.  
  


***

  
He has no idea how much time has passed when he finally drags himself back inside. He just knows that facing her now will be worse than a lot of things that ever went on between them. Or didn't, really. And he wonders if this has broken them for good.  
  
McGee's head shoots up when he moves to sit down at his desk, and when he sees it's Tony, he breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
"Man, don't ever run off on me like that again!" the younger agent greets him, and Tony looks at him blankly. When he doesn't reply, McGee jumps to his feet and gets in his face. "Don't just vanish on me, Tony! Not when Ziva takes a sick day and Gibbs is God knows where! Why didn't you pick up your phone?"  
  
Tony blinks, then digs his cell out of his pocket and flips it open. Seven missed calls from McGee, one from Ziva, five more text messages from McGee.  
  
He snaps the phone shut and sees McGee's stare fixed on the back of his hand. The four perfect half-moons that Ziva's fingernails have marked his flesh with throb with a dull pain, and he knows that McGee sees the blood she has drawn, but he can't care about that now, not while he rewinds the Probie's words in his head and struggles to make sense of them.  
  
"Ziva went home?"  
  
"Yeah, she looked like hell... Tony, what happened?" McGee asks, interrupting himself.  
  
He blinks, slowly. Processes. Then he turns and picks up his jacket.  
  
"Cover for me, McGee. I need to check something," he says, and McGee protests loudly, but Tony doesn't care.  
  


***

  
She isn't home, of course, and she's not at any of the places he has known her to run to when things get rough, and after almost another hour of looking for her in vain, he calls McGee and orders him to locate her cell phone. The Probie objects for maybe thirty seconds, then Timmy's concern gets the upper hand and he tries.  
  
It turns out that she has switched her phone off, and that makes Tony lose his concentration so effectively that he almost hits another car.  
  
"Hang on, she tried to call me after she left NCIS," he says, pulling the car over, not caring about the angry shouts he gets from the other drivers. He stabs some buttons on his phone and looks up the time and then tells McGee to give him the location where that phone call went down.  
  


***

  
In a freakishly sarcastic way, it almost makes sense that he finds her just east of the Jefferson Memorial.  
  
It also makes sense that she's slowly, deliberately getting drunk. She's already halfway through a bottle of Tequila when he gets there, and judging from the second one that's waiting in the grass beside her hip, it looks like she plans on getting more than acquainted with it anytime soon.  
  
Her Sig is also sitting right beside her thigh, and that is the thing that makes him wary when he approaches her.  
  
He wants to say her name, wants to say anything, really, but his voice doesn't work right, and so he just keeps standing beside her, watching her while she leans back against the broad trunk of a tree and raises her bottle once more. There are grass stains on her pants, and he keeps staring at them while quite different images are chasing each other in his mind.  
  
"Sit down," she finally says with something that could have been a sigh. "You're making me nervous."  
  
Her voice is slurred, and he wants to make a crack about that like he usually would, but that would just sound nasty today, and so he just complies and flops down beside her.  
  
She keeps watching the sunset, not meeting his gaze. Every now and then she takes another swig, and he still has no idea what to say to her, so he keeps watching her in turn. Looks at her face, so lax and blank that it scares him. Forces himself to keep looking at her even when he sees the tears.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says, and she closes her eyes, her face no longer blank, just like that. "I wish I could undo that."  
  
She tries to shrug, but the movement is off. "I should not have let it happen in the first place," she replies.  
  
He watches her, carefully, while her expression slinks back into the numbness she has shown before. He has no idea what to do, how to go back in time half a day and make them laugh and hug instead of sitting here in a silence that cuts worse than every blade he knows.  
  
"This is the first time it actually hurt," she says after a while, and his throat tightens. The sunset paints orange kisses on her face, but Tony feels cold as he gets what she's saying.  
  
"You can hit me, if you want," he says, and he means it - she could club him to a bloody pulp right now and he wouldn't even lift a finger to resist.  
  
"Why would I do that?" she asks and raises the bottle again, her eyelids fluttering while she takes a good mouthful.  
  
He stares at her, and when she licks her lips, he raises a hand. She flinches hard when his fingertips touch her cheek to turn her face towards him, and there is a distinct moment of indecision, but then she opens her eyes and meets his gaze. Her tears are fresh, and his own eyes don't feel too good, either, but he keeps touching her because he can't help it.  
  
"Is that why you love me?" she asks after a while. "Because I am so good at hurting you?"  
  
His insides clench, and he wants to run and hide and get a bottle of his own, but he owes it to her to see this through.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing," he replies, and she takes a deep breath and nods.  
  
Her hand comes up to cover his suddenly, and this time he is the one who flinches and wants to shy away from the touch. His pulse picks up an unhealthy speed when she wraps her fingers around his and pulls his hand from her cheek, down into her lap. She doesn't let go, though, and he finds himself clinging to her touch, too, holding her hand so hard that it surely is close to painful.  
  
"There is this one thing that hasn't changed since Africa," she murmurs. "Sometimes I forget about it, because there are good days and good people, but it never went away completely. I wonder if that will ever happen."  
  
And she falls silent again, but he still gets what she means, and now he remembers when he has seen that blank look on her face before. He stares at her gun in the grass and moves his fingers against hers slowly, carefully, just to check if she is willing to allow it.  
  
She doesn't complain, and she doesn't break his arm, and he supposes that is a good sign for someone who is still ready to die.  
  
"Hit me, if that makes you feel alive," he offers once more, and she turns her head to look at him. He has to work hard to hold her gaze, and what he sees this time feels like being ripped apart tiny piece by tiny piece.  
  
She's crying again, and he is right there with her this time. And then she proves that she really knows her way around inflicting pain because instead of beating him up, she leans towards him and kisses him.  
  


***


End file.
